


Communion

by WearingOutWinter



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, F/F, Guilt, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WearingOutWinter/pseuds/WearingOutWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenny atones, the only way she can. Vastra pardons, even if she doesn't quite understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Communion

**Author's Note:**

> It's a crisp Sunday morning. Autumn is in the air, the sun is shining, and the pious folk are all on their way to church.
> 
> Is there a better time to post vaguely blasphemous interspecies lesbians?
> 
> (Seriously, is there? I'll mark it on my calendar.)

Sometimes, it's just too much. Not the blood, or the soot, or the death. Not the sneers, or the whispers, or the lies. Not the scares or the scars or the distant, distant stars. Not any one thing, but all of them together. They drape across her limbs like chains, stick like grime beneath her nails. At times like those, Jenny knows who she needs.

Vastra is known by many names to many people in the city of London. To the police, she is Your Ladyship. To Jenny, when in front of others, even Strax, she is Ma'am. When they are alone, she is V. To the common and the curious she is the Black Widow, to the noble and the pitying she is That Poor Thing. But among the scum, the lawless, and the depraved, she is the Man-Eater. Jenny has no use for a man-eater, but there are times when she desperately needs to be devoured.

Vastra always knows, somehow. She must see the darkness in Jenny's eyes, or feel the tremble in her hands. Perhaps she hears it in her throat, in the way that whispers and sighs and moans all turn to snarls when Jenny lets her beast out.

And because it is a beast, wild and rabid, needing to be put down, it always feels more like fighting than sex. But then, that's the point. That's what needs to be eclipsed. So when Vastra pushes her back against the wall, hard and fast, the shock that runs up Jenny's arm feels just like it does when her sword catches on bone. When Vastra traps Jenny's bottom lip between her teeth, she can't help but remember carefully slipping a blade between ribs. And when Vastra opens her mouth, and her tongue lashes at Jenny's mouth and neck and breasts, it is every bit as hot and wet as blood gushing from an artery.

Vastra is the only one who speaks. Jenny growls and snarls and pants, but Vastra whispers, breath hissing warm against her ear. In truth, Vastra's always been rubbish at dirty talk: the words _slut_ and _whore_ and _harlot_ fall from her mouth without conviction. But that's not what Jenny needs to hear, not now. Now, she needs to hear what she is. She needs the truth, even if it is a small and twisted and ugly truth.

“Murderer,” Vastra hisses, and Jenny throws back her head and howls.

Then it's all clothes roughly torn off and thrown to the floor, talons and teeth, sweat and blood. When they fuck like this, when Vastra doesn't pull and Jenny doesn't flinch, the English girl can feel herself being devoured. It is the opposite of the sacrament: her savior consumes her, body and blood, and in doing so her sins are wiped clean. Corrupt flesh torn away, Jenny is left nothing but bone, clean and pale and smiling. That's when she comes, breath panting ragged from her throat, hips jerking, cunt grinding against Vastra's sharp claws or pointed fangs or stinging, envenomed tongue.

Then it's over, and Vastra gathers Jenny in her arms, carrying her up the stairs and laying her gently on their bed. She places soothing kisses on every place she's drawn blood. She strokes Jenny's hair and tells the human girl that she loves her. When Jenny's breathing returns to normal, Vastra draws them both a bath, with water nearly hot enough to scald. And as Jenny lies boneless in the water, dozing against Vastra's chest, she knows what comes next. She will dress quickly, neatly, and give Vastra a chaste kiss. She will go downstairs and see to it that every blade is sharpened to a razor edge. And when Vastra calls her to fetch the swords and follow, she will not hesitate, and she will not flinch. She will kill. She will kill in defense of her own life, and her wife's. She will kill in defense of people she has never met and never will. She will kill because there are people out there who need killing. But then, one day, it will all be too much again. And she will go to Vastra, not as a lover, not as a spouse, but as an animal. And Vastra, the Black Widow, the Man-Eater, will devour her again. To take away her sins.

 

 

 


End file.
